


Mine, Yours

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-30
Updated: 1999-09-30
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:01:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Another night with Alex Krycek.





	Mine, Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Mine, Yours by Te

Slashx: 6 August 1998  
ArchiveX: 16 August 1998  
Mine, Yours  
by Te  
8/98  
Disclaimers: Sold my soul for 'em, get to keep 'em until the devil gets bored with me.  
Spoilers: Eeep... I suppose there's a little one for the movie, but I think we all know it anyway. No, this doesn't mean there's a plot. Sigh.  
Summary: Another night with Alex Krycek.  
Ratings Note: NC-17 for poor language and Mulder/Krycek smut.  
WARNING: I HAVE BEEN INFORMED THAT THIS STORY IS EVEN DARKER AND CREEPIER THAN MY USUAL. THAT MEANS IT'S REALLY, REALLY DARK. AND CREEPY.  
Archiving Information: Anywhere, probably. Just ask first.  
Author's Note: I seem to recall a request from Hal... Well, anyway, if a PWP can have a sequel, this is the sequel to "Naughty Chair." Of course, it's not necessary to read that one first. With a nod to Holmes for... well, you'll know what I mean, Holmes. As always, love to Sister Blue for education and truly original methods of encouragement. And just because.   
Acknowledgments: To the fabu Pretty Pretty Pares, for putting up with my nagging, helping in the translation of Tespeak, and managing brutal honesty and kindness. Also, to my Prime Beta Alicia, for her much appreciated efforts to larn me some grammar. All remaining errors are my own. Call me on them at .

* * *

Mine, Yours   
by Te

******

Mulder checked his watch. Quarter past seven and he'd been alone in the office for more than an hour. It was hard to keep Scully around these days; his partner seemed convinced he'd try to kiss her again, given half an opportunity. In retrospect, he'd have to say it had been a bad idea. At the time, though...

//Yes, and bellbottoms were also a good idea. At the time.//

He made a mental note to talk to her about it, a few brief moments of awkwardness to re-cement the friendship as-is, perhaps buffered with food. Italian, maybe. Something starchy, fatty, and creamy, designed to make the most painful of conversations sink into obscurity as the blood rushed to your stomach. He wished, not for the first time, that his mental notes were meaningless. It was time to go home.

Walking out of the new office was always jarring. While the Gunmen and assorted contacts had been assiduous in gathering an entirely new collection of the frightening and simply bizarre, the X-Files no longer enjoyed the comfort of the basement. He was never truly alone anymore, and while from within the office the drone of day-to-day life in the FBI was easy to ignore... 

"'Night, Spooky!"

he'd yet to manage to stay late enough that the bullpen was clear. Mulder sketched a wave at 

//Murphy. Seventeen years, alcoholic, divorced--

//shut up, shut up, shut up//

the other agent and walked a little faster. He hated moving through this part of the building. There were ghosts here, with wide, innocent eyes and terrible suits. He didn't want to think about that. It had been far too easy to put that bright, shiny shadow in a box deep inside, far away from the fleshy demon he could never quite find the will to exorcise. Alex made it easy, a score of different looks... all variations on a theme of leather and denim. Blissfully alone on the elevator down to the parking garage, he made a concentrated effort to picture his apparent ally and occasional

//He always waits for the bruises to fade... consideration or aesthetics?//

lover in a suit. A bad, grey suit. He made the daydream as detailed as possible, taking them both to Sears, walking with exactly three bad, grey suits into the nightmare of beige that was the dressing room. Alex promptly took out a 

//he promised he promised next time...//

knife and sliced the first suit to shreds. The grinning dream flung one particularly long, grey shred around his waist, yanked him close, and began to dry hump him. Mulder hit rewind and carefully, thoroughly disarmed his dream Alex. Which was difficult, as he seemed to have a lot more pockets than the real thing. And he giggled, and whispered, and touched and kissed, and had the nerve to eye him smirkingly when Mulder uncoiled the 13 foot bullwhip.

//It was *your* bullwhip, Alex.

//May I remind you whose fantasy this is?

//Then you don't have any weapons. At all.//

Dream Alex frowned, seemed dangerously close to pouting, but was agreeable about removing his clothes. He could do it. He could get him into the suit and then... and then what? He paused before his car, tried to remember the point of this little exercise. 

//I was trying to make him into the same Alex that betrayed me...

//So you *want* to be miserable?//

Mulder sighed quietly and folded himself into the car, letting his arm hang oddly, comfortably, from the belt mount for a moment before buckling himself in. He tilted his head to glance into the rearview and had the briefest possible impression of a silver flash before something sharp was pressed against his throat. He heard himself gasp and swallowed reflexively. A slow line of heat tickled toward his collar.

"Christ, Alex--"

When it came, the whisper was at his right ear, the hand 

//What?//

snaking down his chest. "Be happy I know you well enough that I didn't bother to show until 6:30, Mulder." A hint more pressure; his collar was starting to feel damp. "I might've gotten irritable." The hand was roaming just above his waist, a parody of massage. Abruptly, the sharp thing was twisted and Mulder felt a cool curve against his chin, even as more blood leaked down his neck. 

"That's not a knife."

"Are you pouting?" Brief laugh, a lick along the shell of his ear. "Never mind. I thought you'd... appreciate this more."

The tip was removed; Mulder could feel the pull of flesh from the tiny puncture trying to hold it in place, keep it from doing any more damage. Alex slid it up and over his chin just lightly enough to keep from wounding him. Unspoken was the warning to remain still. A tap on his lower lip, light push.

"Suck it."

There wasn't much hope of refusing that voice. Mulder pulled the hook in slowly, tasted steel and his own blood. Alex began tonguing his ear in earnest, and the sensation made him lose concentration. He felt metal catch on the inside of his cheek briefly and his mouth seemed to be flooding with it. Alex didn't play around when it came to his... weapons? Accessories? For a giddy moment he wondered what other attachments his lover came with.

Mulder could feel the other man's irregular breathing, heard leather creaking as Alex draped himself a little further over the back of the seat. Lips brushing his cheek, clever fingers finally cupping him through the wool of his trousers. He knew Alex was watching, let his tongue slide out to lap at the curve of the hook. That earned him a squeeze, and another wound as he moaned. Several minutes passed, time enough for him to grow accustomed to the occasional scrape of metal against his teeth, to acquire another several small cuts,

//No orange juice for a while...//

before Alex carefully removed the hook from his mouth, the hand from his rapidly hardening cock. Mulder touched his swollen mouth dreamily, and could only blink when he heard the back door opening. A few seconds, too long, and Alex was in the passenger seat, resting the hook on Mulder's thigh. 

"These pants were expensive, you know."

Eyes were dark, wild with the heady mix of animal lust and high good humor that the older man had come to think of as purely Alex. At the very least, no one did it better. 

"Then you should probably get us out of here before I slice you out of them." 

Alex ran the hook dangerously close to Mulder's groin. For the first time, he could see the tight little line of concentration as Alex worked to control the pressure. It didn't seem to faze the younger man, just another thing that had to be done just *so*. 

//Betrayals, maneuvers with global consequences, sexual torture...//

Alex hurt him all the time, but it was soothing to know he'd only do it when he absolutely meant to. Mulder laughed a little at the run of his thoughts, and something 

//hopeful?//

not quite definable crept into Alex's eyes. Mulder caught the hook, placed it decisively on his erection, and drove off. 

******

Alex barely let Mulder get the key in the lock before spinning him around and doing his best to kiss him into submission. The younger man opened the door himself, forcing them both inside and back and back and back into the bedroom. A small part of Mulder's mind was rather impressed that the other man could steer so gracefully with his eyes closed. A soft growl and the kiss was broken with a shove. 

"There's blood on your shirt."

It seemed a non sequitur, and Mulder was at a loss for a reply. Suddenly, buttons were flying and tap tap rolling in all directions. "Jesus, Alex!"

"Have to get it off quickly, Mulder. Don't want the stains to set." The voice was even huskier than usual, making the jauntily practical words positively surreal.

"But you ripped all the buttons off--"

"Details." 

Mulder opened his mouth to protest again, but noticed Alex was staring fixedly at his chest. Quick glance caught a slight twitch in Alex's left shoulder. Mulder removed his undershirt. 

"Keep going."

"What about you?"

"Not yet."

Alex was uncharacteristically terse in his responses and Mulder froze. Another heartbeat and Alex was kissing him again, pulling hard on his tongue as chill leather chafed his nipples to stone. A stolen breath, a bite on the chin. 

"Keep going."

When he was naked he pulled the younger man close for another kiss and Alex allowed it. The eyes were blackly luminous, and not quite focused. 

"Lie down."

Mulder ran a thumb over the bruised petal of his lover's mouth, had it sucked in to the knuckle in a move so fast as to seem reflexive. The heat, the always surprising force of the wet caress.... Mulder heard himself give a rough exhalation and watched those wild eyes flutter closed. It was always intense between them, but this...

//What do you want, Alex?//

Gentle scrape of teeth and his knees buckled. Alex released his thumb and Mulder lay flat on the mildly dusty sheet, watching Alex watching him. The bulge of the younger man's erection was obvious, but, save for a brief adjustment, Alex didn't touch himself.

"Alex--"

He held up his hand, shook his head. Mulder began to stroke himself slowly, letting his own teeth scrape along the wounds in his mouth in an effort to keep control. He was cold and his skin demanded contact. 

//Look at this, want me...//

His own hand was a disappointment. Too mundane, too slow, too smooth, too gentle.... Mulder released his cock, propped himself on his elbows. And then, finally, Alex was lowering himself gingerly, straddling his thighs with rough denim. He wanted the jeans to be newer, wanted to be shaven, wanted to hurt and Alex was slow, so slow... 

Pale fist gripping the pillow beside his head; Mulder watched the muscles strain in the mildly over-developed forearm, felt the drag of cold steel along his abdomen.

"Look at me." That whiskey growl echoing his thoughts sent a coil of something a lot like terror through his belly; he could feel the muscles jumping and twitching even as the hook raised uneven trails of gooseflesh, rivulets of blood. He looked. Only a moment to enjoy the delicious vacuum of lust before his mouth was stolen again. Alex was thorough in seeking the earlier wounds, doing his best to reopen them with his tongue, with Mulder's permission and blessing. 

Alex slid forward a little, raising the sparse hair on the older man's thighs and bringing the clothed heat of his desire in contact with Mulder's. The agent sobbed into the kiss, began to buck hard into his lover, who immediately pulled his face away. Alex pumped his hips once and again before kneeling up and pressing his weight down just hard enough to keep Mulder's movements constrained. 

Mulder let his eyes close. This was far too much of something he couldn't quite name. He wanted to speak, but there were no words he could think to share beyond yes and more. This was no ghost above him, no ludicrously benign demon of fantasies and self punishment, this was a man. Who was tapping the point of a hook in the tender flesh next to his eye.

"I'm going to mark you, Mulder. Tell me where."

If he tried to open his eyes, if he moved suddenly, he'd wind up with a facial scar. Mulder concentrated on slowing his breathing, tried to stop the constant flex and release of his hips. He was grateful to Alex for pinning him, immediately recognizing the absurdity but unable to make it relevant. 

"Not the face...."

Implicit consent, of course, and he followed the steel, leaned into the curved caress as it shivered down his cheek. Alex let it hover over his throat for a moment. Mulder was aware, again, of the tack of dried blood; opened his eyes to find the other man staring at him in blank want. 

"Where?"

"Why are you doing this?" It seemed wrong to ask, a gaffe to interrupt the spell of desire and violence, but the words came so easily.... Alex was shifting his ribcage in tiny motions, moving like a cobra and staring, staring. "Slow down... not yet..." He couldn't believe it was his own voice, was stunned that it made any difference. 

There should've been some anger showing, but there wasn't. Apparently, the younger man found it only natural that Mulder would ask and pause and demand.... Tiny little motions and they were still joined by heat and a palm, flat on his chest. The pretty face was smooth, calm in a need become familiar over the course of the evening.

"I need to. This... this, between us..." There was the frown, that line giving Alex a blend of seriousness and earnest youth no amount of cracked leather and bloody steel could ever erase. "There's too much here for the games, Mulder."

"And this isn't just another game? You surprise me, you hurt me, you fuck--"

"I don't want to hurt you." Mulder ducked his chin to brush against the hook still resting just below. Alex shook his head and slid the steel down the center of Mulder's chest, careful of the resultant arch. "This isn't about hurt."

"Tell me what it's about, then." 

A rueful smile. "Why do you think I keep coming back?"

"The information, the sex..."

"I may not be the same perfect little package I used to be, but sex isn't a real problem, Mulder. And, yeah, we're playing our little war games--"

"You weren't so nonchalant about it before." 

The younger man nodded in response, began to casually, finally remove his clothes. Mulder was sorry to see the jacket go, as always. The ever-present white t-shirt next, pulled from left to right in one smooth motion, exposing old bruises, older scars. There was, apparently, a point where it seemed perfectly natural to reach out and touch hot, silky skin, to try to work through the problems of your relationship while chafing your cock raw against black denim. "You're right, I wasn't.... But some things are more important than others."

The older man ran his hands along the firm belly but not lower, knowing that touch wasn't wanted, yet. His question had brought a calm to this, a corruption of languor, and he wasn't sure whether to be happy about that. "What things, Alex?"

Alex brought his hand to Mulder's; they linked fingers absently and the older man continued to rub and press and pet. "Wouldn't it be too easy for us to just spell it out?" 

"I don't know, it might be refreshing..." There was a smile in his voice, but Mulder knew his own inability to look above the knot of their companionably twisting hands was the real answer. A shuddering breath from above suggested Alex understood that, as well. 

//I have a choice here. I ask him into my soul, or I simply don't resist when he walks in anyway.//

"You're already here, you know, Alex..."

A pause as long fingers gripped his own in tight question, before disentangling themselves, traveling up to flatten on his chest again. Mulder knew Alex could feel exactly how fast his heart was beating.

"Here?"

Then, and only then, did Mulder meet his eyes again. Such a stupid waste to talk in riddles, begging the fates to toy with you. But sometimes you can get away with a nod.

It happened fast, one quick, effortless slash. Too sudden to feel pain, at first, or for it to even bleed immediately. Mulder could see the flesh open shallowly, a bloom of skin. He was aware that he wasn't breathing. He was aware of the prosthetic dropping off the side of the bed. Ruthlessly efficient movements, a sigh of pained relief and Alex had freed himself. The touch of that velvet heat almost, almost made him breathe but it seemed so much more important to watch the night flower of his chest, dew black in streetlights. 

The pain came in the wake of Alex's tongue, a razor flare of brittle agony ratcheting higher and higher with every heartbeat. He was being turned on his side, a brief moment of bumping chins and noses and Alex was opening his mouth with his own. It was impossible to not feel the rhythms, the pulse and pain of wounds and prolonged arousal and there was a hand on his cock, pumping, squeezing and slick hardness against his own, together needful another squeeze to thrust into, another kiss to hold a sob.... Mulder caught his breath against Alex's cheek, focused on the idea of cleaning the sheets until he had himself under control. 

He flung an arm into space, smacking the night table hard enough to bruise and sliding his body perilously along the sweat-sticky heat of the younger man's. There was a tongue lapping incessantly at the hollow of his collarbone, subtle path to madness in cat rasp and obsession. Mulder fumbled for what felt like an eternity; Alex didn't stop tonguing him until the older man had pushed him on his back. Too many awkward moments of positioning, of wondering at the depth of hatred he'd developed for a stupid scrap of latex, and it seemed like the air itself was trying to get him off.

There were strong calves on his shoulders. Alex's eyes were half lidded, dazed looking. His lips were moving and Mulder was abruptly aware that the younger man had been speaking for quite some time, rough nonsense and casual obscenities, hand trailing along the underside of his own cock shamelessly.... Brief shining glimpse of *something*... a vague idea that there was no dare, no tease in this just...

"Please..."

and he was lost in the feel of his finger slipping easily inside, moans and encouragements, the jack-knife of a clever twist. There was no part of him able to detach itself from *this*, the whir and bustle of his mind wholly focused on the slow rock to join them, the taste of an ankle, the scent of iron and want. 

He was bleeding again, the sweat was running in the wounds and setting his surface abuzz... he watched pinkish droplets fall on Alex's chest, was shocked to see them remain where they fell, unevaporated. It added anger to his thrusts, driving him higher and harder...

//Where is my mark on you?//

... unbearable that no time with this man could end without pleasure, no act shame him until long after its completion. There was something like a lesson in this, and that was the last of his thoughts before he was yanked into mindless rut by the force of the younger man's scream.

******

"A cigar?"

"Don't you want the mark to set, Alex?"

Eyes that had barely regained their simple olive began to flare and blacken again. "I should've known you'd know about that, Mulder."

A briefly bitter laugh in the darkness. "The bizarre, the obscure, the insane--" He was cut off by a thumb running gently over his lips. 

"Mmm... and that's just your sex life. Hold on, let me get something to hold the ash, let it cool a bit."

Silence and black. Once Alex moved out of range of the streetlight he was impossible to trace, a spreading presence, a ghost again. 

He returned with warm, damp towels, a dry one, and a small cup. The men smoked in silence for a time, allowing shoulders and knees to nudge in strange, prickly intimacy, sharing the cigar until it became nauseating. 

"Are you sure you don't want a painkiller, Mulder?"

"The only thing I want is for you to brush your teeth *thoroughly* before you kiss me."

"I'm not the one with the cheap stogies--"

"We're procrastinating."

Alex looked away first, grabbing his jacket from the cluttered floor and handing it to the other man before switching on the lamp. A few moments to wince at each other. 

"Bite on this when it starts to hurt..." Flash of wicked smile. "Let that fetish work for you, babe."

Mulder snorted, but grabbed the sleeve. Held it under his nose and breathed deep when Alex began to smooth the ash in, painstakingly, thoroughly. He was biting down hard soon enough, but had the presence of mind to laugh a little when the younger man threatened to hurt him if he tore a hole in it. 

Finally, Alex was done and Mulder looked down to see a rough, grey line of ash with the beginnings of a subtle curve, a hip bone, a moment of life. 

"I think I'm ready for that painkiller now."

They were asleep by the first crow screech.

******  
End.  
******

Well, see, Hal asked me to write an Alex-with-hook story. That's all... 


End file.
